Waiting for Harry
by Owlbutter
Summary: As hard as it is to accept, some Hogwarts students show their true colours in times of stress. [Implied slash between Harry and Draco.]


**_Waiting for Harry_**

**Author:** Owlbutter  
**Rating:** K+ or PG  
**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Hermione, Ron  
**Word count**: 723  
**Disclaimer:** The characters and universe never have, and never will belong to me.  
**Summary:** As hard as it is to accept, some Hogwarts students show their true colours in times of stress.

**Author's notes:** The title for this is inspired by Bill Hammond's _Watching for Buller_. The painting itself doesn't really have any relation to the fic, other than that I think the mood is similar.

* * *

Draco Malfoy strides through Hogwarts with his Slytherin friends, wordlessly acting as if he owns the place. 

When Ron sees this, he is furious. To him, it is absolute proof Malfoy never cared for Harry at all, and any truce they may have had is over on his part. He attacks Malfoy at every opportunity, pouring out his grief and rage. Malfoy completely ignores him, as if any parts of Harry's life never existed, and this adds more flame to Ron's volatile fire.

Hermione is less certain.

She can see with her own eyes Malfoy's public indifference, and can't be unaffected by it. Every half-hearted attempt to catch Malfoy unguarded, to expose him, fails.

But Harry believed in him. It feels too wrong to just spurn that belief as quickly as snapping her fingers.

So she gives him chance after chance, stays the passive observer, watches for just one flicker as Ron shouts across the Great Hall. Hopes.

---

Harry's Cloak is still in his trunk, in his dormitory. Hermione manages to obtain it, and wraps it around her one night. She needs to know.

It feels relatively easy, sneaking into the Slytherin dungeons. She waits when she needs to wait, walks when she needs to walk. Everything seems terribly normal when she makes it to Malfoy's room.

She catches him writing a letter. His quill scratches slowly and methodically, and his features are set in outward concentration.

By the time she silently approaches him to peer illicitly over his shoulder, he is already folding the parchment, placing it in an envelope. But when he turns it over briefly she can clearly see the name trailing over the otherwise crisp front.

_Harry Potter_

A cold fury runs over her, understanding like a dunk in the lake. _So that's it_.

Malfoy knows where Harry is, and she wants to _scream_, because wouldn't he want to be told if their situations were reversed, and why on _earth _wouldn't Harry let _her_ know, let _Ron_ know he was _alright_?

While Hermione has been silently thinking and shaking and gritting her teeth, Malfoy has been sealing and charming the letter. There is no address on the envelope, and Hermione supposes absently that Malfoy's owl must know the way.

When Malfoy leaves the room purposefully Hermione follows blindly, through empty corridors and up darkened stairways, envisaging ways to trace the owl's movements.

They reach the Owlery, and hay muffles Malfoy's steps as he makes his way around the maze of perches. The other owls coo and shuffle and flutter about enough that Hermione can follow undetected.

Malfoy halts when he comes to the corner where his own eagle owl roosts, and sits on the ground nearby. He leans forward, petting her and whispering in her ear. Hermione stops, and stares, invisible.

Under her perch is a messy heap of letters.

Hermione is not near enough to know what Malfoy is saying, but she can hear desperation leaking into his voice. He pulls his hand from his pocket, offering the steadily crinkling envelope.

The look the owl gives him tells Hermione enough - even for a bird, it is recognisable. The pity that would have her shaking him if she were able, telling him to stop doing this to himself. But the love is what keeps her going out night after night, trying so hard and failing. Pausing long and slow, she resignedly reaches a claw forward in acceptance.

After his owl leaves, Malfoy stays silently on the Owlery floor. Hermione notices that he hasn't looked at the remaining pile, is consciously avoiding it. But much as he tries not to, his eyes are inevitable draw down. He clenches his jaw.

Hermione knows he can see them in his sleep, has memorised each one, knows instantly if a new letter has been dropped in defeat, discarded. Identical wax, crest, stiff parchment, coiled handwriting.

Only at this moment can Hermione see the tears angrily struggling up underneath his expression, although even now - with effort - he keeps himself under check. He looks utterly horrible, and Hermione has the feeling that seeing one more untouched missive, one more drop in the pond, will break him completely.

She hopes Malfoy's owl never, ever returns.

---

When Ron, hurt, frustrated, throws another remark at Malfoy the next day, Hermione shushes him with a nudge and a frown.

The End

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End file.
